


Gilbert v. Anxiety, Shingles, and Kingdom Hearts

by GayChaton



Category: Polygon/McElroy Vlogs & Podcasts RPF
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety Attacks, Anxiety Disorder, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Insecurity, M/M, Panic Attacks, Past Relationship(s), Postherpetic Neuralgia, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-26
Updated: 2019-03-08
Packaged: 2019-11-05 20:21:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17925689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GayChaton/pseuds/GayChaton
Summary: Brian has a successful web series. And anxiety. And shingles. And postherpetic neuralgia. And crippling insecurity. And student loans. And an inferiority complex. And a crush on his co-worker.So yeah, he’s doing great, how are you?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written by your local queer, anxiety-ridden eighteen-year-old with shingles and postherpetic neuralgia who deeply relates with BDG about these things.

Even as he’s as close as can be with someone who certainly loves him, Brian can’t help but feel… less than.

It gnaws at him, following him like a shadow. It’s a looming cloud he tries his best to ignore. And just when he thinks he’s shaken it with insistent self-care and support from friends and family, it will come for him in the dead of night, banishing the dreams he wished would come and replacing that time with hours spent worrying over everything from his big-picture life goals to the most insignificant detail. He’ll remind himself how close he was to financially tanking; that getting hired by Polygon was the only thing keeping him from falling back to his parents and hoping they’d support him. He’ll remind himself that he hears whispers that his energy - which he forces to remain at high levels for the sake of those around him - grates on the very people he’d been hoping it would cheer up. He’ll remind himself that even his body is _lanky_  and _strange_  and _obnoxious_ —

“We should get up,” Pat mumbles into Brian’s hair. The man behind him heaves in a breath and lets it go. Brian can feel his own hair blown out of it’s way by the force of it. He blushes, and then immediately becomes grateful for the fact that Pat’s not looking in his direction.

“Okay,” Brian responds meekly. He doesn’t feel like causing a fuss about having to get up, even though he’d give almost anything to keep cuddling with his coworker, friend, and long-time crush, Patrick Gill. It was his fault they fell asleep anyway. They’d been playing through the City level of Celeste and Pat started dozing off, so Brian put the game into it’s menu, which only made the music softer and gentler, which made them sleepy, so it’s his fault—

“What?”

“Hm?” Brian asks with a hum.

Pat pulls away and looks down at Brian with his typical blank face. “What are you thinking about?”

At least he’s not blushing anymore, so he can meet Pat’s eye evenly. “Mm, nothing. Let’s get up. You wanna order Doordash for food?”

“… Yeah,” Pat concedes after a hard moment of staring at Brian. He sits up and looks over at the TV and it’s still-active menu as Brian drags his phone off the couch’s armrest so that he can order food. “Let’s save it and come back to it some other time.”

“You’re just mad you can’t figure out how the B-Sides work,” Brian taunts.

“Not when you’re sitting there laughing at me when I mess up! Geez, how am I supposed to work under these conditions?”

“Go on strike, then,” comes his mumbled answer. He’s significantly more focused on submitting the order into the app on his phone so that food will arrive. “… they say twenty minutes.”

“That long?”

“They have to make the food before it gets picked up and delivered, you know. I just went ahead and got chinese.”

“Thanks. I’ll get the next dinner, promise.”

“Duh,” Brian smirks. He looks up and sees Pat flicking through the Playstation’s home menu to land on Netflix. “What’re you pulling up?”

“Dunno. If you don’t have anything in mind, maybe Pokémon?”

“Sure, but do a movie. I can’t stand TV shows right now.”

“Ah, ‘kay. Why don’t you go feed Zuko? I’ll see what movies they have,” Pat suggests while beginning the long and frankly frustrating process of moving the cursor around to type in the seven-letter word.

Brian doesn’t respond, but shoves himself up to his feet. The room’s cool air washes over his side, nearly making him shiver at the stark contrast between the room’s temperature and Pat’s warmth. Still, he walks to the kitchen and grabs the bag of cat food from the pantry. “Zuko!”

Moving leisurely, Brian picks up the bag of cat food from the cupboard and notices a neat stack of washed dishes on the counter by the sink. Laura must’ve come home while they napped. As he crouches to pour out the food into the stainless-steel bowl, Brian can hear the light pounds of Zuko’s paws as the cat sprints down the hall and skitters into the kitchen. He hisses a little at Brian, even as the human fills his food.

“Chill,” Brian mumbles, putting the food back. Around non-human entities he lets his guard down a little. He can talk to himself to calm down around his own pet. It’s not like a cat can ruin his reputation by spilling his insecurities to twitter. Brian quickly realizes how fast his thoughts are spiraling and bites his tongue.

“Hey Brian! How ‘bout the one where Ash dies?”

“The first movie, you mean?” Brian asks back, confused. He flicks the kitchen lights off as he leaves (he doesn’t think Zuko needs them). He enters the living room so they can stop yelling across his apartment.

“No the other one. Pokémon: I Choose You. In the first movie it’s like, Mew and Mewtwo hit him by accident. In this one, it’s a bunch of possessed pokémon. And Pikachu talks for like, three seconds? It’s weird.”

“Oh, cool,” Brian nods, “I’m sure I’ll recognize it along the way.”

“Yeah, you must’ve seen it. Pay attention if you didn’t.”

Brian sees an opportunity. He smiles devilishly and then gives Pat his best innocent look. “If I’m paying attention to the _movie_ , does that mean you’ll answer the door and get the food when it arrives?”

“You’re just trying to get out of talking to a stranger.”

“Is it working?”

“You’re a journalist, Brian.”

“I’m a video producer. That’s different. I talk to cameras, not people.”

They stare each other down. For a moment, Brian adds it up and the answer he comes up with is that Pat’s putting up too much of a fight to let it go. But then, Pat sighs and shrugs. “Absolutely pathetic.”

He’s joking, and Brian knows that with certainty, but the words dig deep. It tears at him for a second, during which he remains absolutely silent.

“Fine, but you better be paying attention, Bri.”

Brian swallows. He has to respond so he says— “I’ll be sure to give it top priority.”

Pat, despite his typically-astute observation, misses Brian’s hiccup before he recovers, sits down, and tucks the pain away to process when he’s alone. It’s a good thing, Brian’s sure. He wouldn’t have it any other way.

It’s best they not bring down such a lovely night when bright, beautiful colors light their TV as Pat’s warm arm rests across his shoulders in a quiet, reserved form of physical affection. Even though he’d rather be kissing the man instead. Then again, that’s asking far too much.

It’s best to be grateful for what he has.

 

* * *

 

They’re at work, and Brian’s reading out the rules to a new Ameritrash board game for Overboard, and he pauses suddenly in the middle of his speech.

“Wait— this is the ruleset for two player. Aw _shit,_  there’s a whole ‘nother page for multiplayer rules,” Brian complains upon realizing that he’s wasted about a minute reading out complicated and intricate rules that won’t even be used.

The table laughs. It’s a board meeting (see? He’s so disheartened that he can’t even muster up a pun at them doing a board meeting for Overboard), so they’re all supposed to be serious and time efficient and presenting the new pitches so that they can prepare everything for the new episode. Yet, the people at Polygon are graceful. Brian’s been places where he’s been looked down on for wasting time and making mistakes. Polygon is not so unkind. Around him, Brian’s coworkers just chuckle at his ‘goof’ and poke some fun.

“Start over, then,” Tara says, raising her voice.

For everyone else, it’s a reminder to stay on task. For Brian, it’s a command and a warning. He fumbles to smooth out the correct side of the paper as everyone’s murmurs die down. Then, he clears his throat nervously and begins again. As he talks, he’s starting to sweat and his face feels hot as an oven, but he keeps his voice level and his eyes down until he’s finished. He looks up to Tara for approval.

“Cool. But sounds complicated,” she decides as she nods thoughtfully. Like the others, she is not unkind. She’s just as witty and humorous as them, but she has work to get to, and right now Brian knows she has to be his boss before she’s his friend. There’s not enough time in the work day to be both constantly. (Why should she have to choose at all, Brian wonders. It’s a simple choice. She’s his boss, not his _friend_. Keep it _proffesional_  idiot.) So, her eyes slide over to Clayton, to whom she raises her eyebrows. “Clayton? Would you mind playing it some on your own time? Feel free to take the board from Brian.”

“Will do. Brian, I’ll pick it up from your desk before lunch,” Clayton announces.

Brian nods. The game was bought under _his_ recommendation, but it was bought by _Polygon_. It’s Polygon’s property, so if Tara says Clayton will be play-testing it, then it’s out of his hands. He’s not particularly upset at the loss, but he’d been looking forward to playing another Ameritrash game. They play a lot of hidden-role and dexterity and party games, but sometimes he misses the classic roleplay aspects of games. If he’s lucky, Clayton will invite Brian to play it when they’re off the clock so they can learn the rules.

“Next proposal?” Tara asks.

Brian pays enough attention to Jenna’s proposal to hear that it’s your run-of-the-mill with a dexterity mechanic for its gimmick. Apparently, though, it’s a ton of fun to play with friends, if the interested nods and glances between everyone is an indication. Unfortunately for him, Brian does _not_  pay enough attention to catch why it is fun or any of the rules she reads out from her instructions sheet, because he is still caught up on his mistake and Tara’s reaction. She probably doesn’t _hate_  him, right? She has another meeting to go to after this one. Surely, she was just trying to proceed with the meeting as fast as possible. It was nothing personal, _right_? But if she was cool with Brian, why’d she go through the trouble of assigning play-testing to _Clayton_? (Clayton’s a whole ‘nother can of worms that Brian doesn’t have time for.) That brings the implication that she doesn’t trust Brian to figure out his own proposed board game. But she’s his friend. She wouldn’t be that petty. He’s reading too much into this, but his thoughts cycle back to the interaction, running over it again and again in a loop. He read the wrong side. People laughed, Tara called them to order. He read the right side. She offloaded the work to Clayton. Moved on. Why can’t _he_? (Yeah, Brian, _Jesus._  Why can’t you just—)

“We’ll get some play-testing out of the way for the next meeting,” tara announces as she stands up. Around Brian, people start gathering their shit together, so he does too. “Simone, Jeff, Brian. Good scouting. Your games will be our top priority for testing. Tell me ASAP if you discover anything about the game that might cause complications in filming. Best to strike it from the list early if it won’t work. Any questions about that?”

Silence.

“Any questions about anything?”

Brian shakes his head. (He knows some people hate not getting a reaction from the people they’re adressing. Comedians. Actors. PE teachers who want their kids to say ‘yes ma’am’ like they’re in boot camp. He had a gym teacher like that once—)

“Meeting adjourned,” Allegra announces, finally breaking a smile.

He stands up quickly. Moves behind the chair, stretches his legs, and picks up his clipboard. He’d already pinned his notepad and his game’s instruction paper to the board, so it’s all he has to get before he makes for the door. Before he can get there, a hand juts out and lands on his shoulder, halting him. Brian jumps, jerking his head over to see Tara.

She’s smiling at him kindly, but worry is etched subtly in her features. “Are you okay, Brian? You seem wound up.”

“I’ll be fine,” Brian assures, ducking his head. He flips idly through his notes to look like he’s not just avoiding eye contact. “Sorry, I’ll try to pay more attention.”

“Don’t beat yourself up about the little things. Even when you fuck up, you’re our class clown we get to laugh at.”

“Right, yeah,” Brian smiles uncomfortably. He doesn’t want to talk about how surprisingly self-conscious he is, especially not when his co-workers can hear everything. Though, by now everyone’s gone from the room except the two of them. Which reminds him that _time_ is passing. His gaze drifts to the clock on the wall behind Allegra. It’s running a little close to her next meeting, and he doesn’t want to eat up her time, so he furrows his brows and tilts his head subtly toward the door. “Didn’t you have a Skype conference to—“

“ _Shit_ — you’re right,” Tara swears. She grabs her wallet and then her folder and makes for the door. “See you later—!”

Brian watches her speed walk out. Nobody has enough time to have every conversation they want to. But _everyone’s_  attention can be misdirected. He feels a little bad exploiting those two facts to evade questions into his mental health, but it’s not something he cares to discuss at the moment. Too much to do. Scripts to write, propose, edit, film. Games to research for weeks, documents and spreadsheets to perfect. Compared to all that, a discussion about how he’s feeling about reading the wrong side of a paper seems insignificant.

(He feels a muscle ache in his side. It hurts dully right now, but it won’t get better without meds. He knows what that means, but it’s not like can do anything about it. Anyway, it’s not important.)

So, he ignores it.

 

* * *

 

“Fuck, Pat, what the fuck is this?” Brian whispers.

“Uhh…” Pat mutters. “Look, it isn’t that bad.”

“’ _Isn’t that bad_ ’? Pat, I forgot _four_  fucking games!” Brian shouts, waving a hand down at his physical project folder on the desk. Pat’s sitting at his chair in front of the Chromebook with six open tabs of notes and scripts and flow charts and spreadsheets. Furious, Brian holds up his phone and shakes it in his tight grip. “I’m on the wikipedia right now? And _Pat_? I don’t know some of these main characters on the character category.”

“Like who?”

“Who the _fuck_  is Vinetas, Pat?”

Pat shakes his head. “Calm down, Brian. Insertions into Unraveled scripts aren’t unprecedented. These videos aren’t made to have cohesive analysis and perfect, succinct descriptions. That’s not what the series is about.”

“No, you’re right. The show’s about me going fucking _crazy_  trying to figure pointless things out,” Brian laughs. “You’re right. I’m in the _perfect_ fucking mood for doing this series.”

“That’s not what I meant. I just meant that we have other videos for smooth, well-structured descriptions. We have some… liberties. We can write it into the script as a literal detour. There’s no need to freak out over how to put it into the video, only a matter of writing it in in the first place.”

Brian lets out a long breath through his lips. His room is fucking chaos right now. He’s lucky Pat was free to help, because Brian can’t make sense of the Kingdom Hearts games without someone who’s played them. It’s Pat’s day off, too. “I’m sorry. You’re absolutely right— I’m stressing over nothing.”

“It’s alright—“

“Let’s get going, then,” Brian interrupts, pulling up a printed out flowchart. “So where do you say this games should go?”

“We can start with Birth By Sleep before we get into Chain of Memories. You put it before the hero’s journey. It’s before the island and everything.”

“Fucking— okay. Okay, sure. So we’re detouring Sora’s character arc for the time that he saved a boy when he was a child? The story’s not even about him—“

“But he’s in it, you have to include it. People will say it’s his origins,” Pat says.

“But his origins are the tutorial of Kingdom Hearts One! From the Destiny Islands on—“

“You can’t ignore the _prequel_  when you’re talking about character development, Brian,” Pat insists firmly. “Sit down. Let’s get this the fuck over with.”

“Right,” Brian says. He sits down on his bed, but not on top of the folders and notes he has sprawled across the foot of the bed. (He’s surrounded by mess. It sprawls around him in pages and pages of notes only a couple tiny paragraphs long. He can’t get rid of them because the script is in pieces in all of these pages, he just has to find the good ones put them together—)

“Should we call Allegra?”

“Don’t bother her…”

“Well, she knows it better than either of us. I don’t even like Kingdom Hearts—“

“Then why don’t you get the _fuck_  out,” Brian shouts. A fraction of a second after the words leave his mouth, he’s completely and totally consumed with regret and guilt. Physically, his body begins to ache. (Why does it hurt? Why is his side— oh, shit— wait, there’s more important things right now—) He covers his mouth and looks at Pat with wide eyes. “Oh… my god I am _so_ sorry, Pat. I didn’t mean that. At all. I’m so sorry I yelled at you— you don’t deserve this. It’s your day off and I ask for help and then I _y_ _ell_  at you— god I’m such a shitty friend.”

“Brian, it’s fine,” Pat says. “I know you’re stressed. You didn’t mean it. No hard feelings. Just don’t do it again, okay?”

“Yeah,” Brian whispers, his face turning bright red. He can’t believe he got so mad about a script that he yelled at his coworker/best friend/diehard crush.

Pat frowns a slight bit, but it’s Pat, so it’s not so unusual.

(Brian can’t let it rest at that, though. His mind runs a million miles an hour while his face is frozen still. There’s absolutely no way what he just did was acceptable, just like there’s no way it could have been forgiven so instantaneously. Why did he snap like that? There was no way Pat even remotely deserved that. Furthermore, they’ve never had a serious fight, even over dumb things. Pat must be furious, holding it in to be professional. He’s fucking ruined their whole relationship; it’s never going to be the same. Now Pat’s going to barely talk to him outside of work because now they’re not friends, they’re just coworkers. He’ll be kind, because Pat is nothing but kindness wrapped in a mindful, careful package, but deep down, he’ll always think back to this moment and remember how awful Brian really is. Pat’s just pretending, he fucking hATES YOU—)

“Let’s start learning about the other games, just so we can sum them up easily,” Pat decides. “Then we can tack them in the middle under the guise of a mid-filming rewrite. No-one will be the wiser.”

“I—“ Brian stops himself before he can ask how Pat can possibly move on that quickly. ”Uh— yeah.” If Pat’s ready to move on, Brian has to be, too.

“Oh, but word of advice?” Pat asks, eyes staring right into Brian.

“Yes?” Brian asks as a shiver passes down his spine

“Take a break soon,” Pat says with a gentle voice. He probably doesn’t intend it, but Brian feels like it’s a condition to his forgiveness. “You’re running yourself ragged. Try spending time with people who relax you, just for a little while.”

Brian agrees before he knows what he’s doing.

(Fuck, he has it bad.)

He doesn’t even know what he means by ‘it’. His crush on Pat? Yeah, that’s fucking bad. He’d walk straight off the Brooklyn Bridge if Pat asked him to. His anxiety? Most definitely. It’s getting worse by the day, but there’s nothing he can do to stop its’ effect on him without meds. His recurring pains? Again, yes, but without meds, what’s there to do?

He nods at Pat, apologizes, and antagonizes himself alone.


	2. Chapter 2

 “He… blackmailed you into hanging out with me?” Jonah asks, chuckling.

“Well, n-no,” Brian stutters. He lies on his own couch on a Tuesday night, listening to Jonah in the kitchen without bothering to stand up and have a face-to-face conversation. “He didn’t threaten anything. It just felt like doing this would make it up to him.”

“So you’re here because you think it’ll make Pat forgive you for yelling at him. Brian, that’s the weirdest thing I think I’ve heard in a while,” Jonah admits. There’s a rustling in the kitchen, followed soon after by the trash can lid being opened and then closed. “I’m pretty sure he meant other friends that you don’t see that often. Or maybe your siblings. He _probably_ didn’t mean your roommate. By all means, though, I’ll play therapist.”

“I don’t need a therapist,” Brian says sharply. As Jonah walks into the room, he sits up and stares at Jonah with all the intensity he can muster.

Jonah’s comic smile falls into a kinder one as he tilts his head. “Okay. Then I’ll play matchmaker.”

Brian groans and covers his face with one hand.

“I brought tortilla chips. Sit up and let’s talk,” he says.

Begrudgingly, Brian props himself up against the back of the couch and takes the huge bowl of chips into his lap. Jonah lifts his legs up and sits down before placing the legs back across his own. Brian sighs. “What if I don’t want to talk?”

“That’d be fine, except I _know_ you do. So, let’s talk.”

“You really know how to treat a guy,” Brian drones jokingly.

“It got me into your pants, didn’t it?”

Brian remembers it. (Back when they were ‘Scott and Gilbert’ instead of ‘The Altogether’. College age, as queer as can be, experimenting with someone he knew would be a part of his life forever. A safe bet. Someone who he could never ruin things with because Jonah was the kind of friend that no matter if you were fucked him regularly or only had one calc class with him, you could call him after years of no contact and he’d be there for you. He remembers looking up at Jonah inches away. Tall, sturdy, so kind and quiet and sweet and supportive… He remembers being excessively happy his boyfriend was tall because he’d tried dating shorter boys and girls and it felt so weird to bend down to make out with someone. So much easier to lean into Jonah’s chest right after a rehearsal for some new gig and absolutely melt into those perfect, skilled lips—)

Brian clears his throat. They broke up on maybe the best terms anyone could ever break up, with deciding that it was just so much easier to avoid any potential drama with their relationship getting in the way of their options for music. After all, not everyone in Baltimore had been so happy with a queer couple recording music in their studio, despite how LGBT friendly the city typically was. Ever since, Jonah’s been his wingman in romance, making his opinion known of Brian’s current crushes and flings. Once or twice, he’s scared off a potential suitor, but Brian’s learned to trust that Jonah’s a better judge of character than himself. Jonah always ends up having the right intuition about these kinds of things. And Jonah _likes_ Pat.

“Whatever. Act all smooth but you’re still a pushover.”

“Maybe so, but you have a type, Brian. You still got the hots for Pat, right?”

“Funny, the way you phrased that. Like I could stop if I wanted to. I’m _dying_ , Jonah. He’s so fucking amazing and I’m—“

“Also amazing.”

“ _No_ , I’m a huge dick,” Brian exclaims, glaring off into the distance. “I yelled at him for trying to help me. Jonah, I called him to my house _on his day off_ and then tried to kick him out for doing what I asked.”

“Okay, yeah. Sometimes you’re a jerk. That’s everyone, Brian. He has to know that you only yell at people you’re not afraid of scaring off.”

“Or maybe he thinks I’m trying to scare him off,” he frowns. “I’m sure there’s enough signs I’ve been giving off recently for him to think our friendship’s taking a nosedive. I don’t doubt he’d put it behind him to get work done, but I don’t want to go back to being coworkers. He’s such a good friend.”

“You want more, too,” Jonah muses.

Brian presses the side of his face into the couch. “Yes. Happy?”

“Very,” Jonah returns in a flat, sarcastic voice. “Look, sounds like there’s a lot of work pressure on you right now. When’s the last time you sang?”

“With you,” Brian says with a quirked smile. “What kind of dumb question is that?“

“Not professionally. At all? When’s the last time you sang for fun?”

Brian’s eyes widen. “Oh, uh, at work or something. I sing in the middle of my stuff all the time.”

“What’s the last song you sang?” Jonah presses on relentlessly.

Brian shakes his head and forces a smile. He lifts the chip bowl and goes to put it on the coffee table. “Who remembers what they sing? Besides, I alw—“

He freezes when an ache strikes sharply and painfully in his side. His breath hitches, but he puts the bowl down and returns to his position in an attempt to revert the pain. It lingers, though, irreversible. The whole motion takes place in less than half a second, so he decides to press on.

“Always forget those things,” Brian mumbles.

“What was that?”

Moment of truth. “What was what?” Brian asks, looking up at Jonah with relaxed eyes. (His side aches aches aches—)

Jonah twists and moves forward all at once. Brian doesn’t know what he’s doing until his hand presses against Brian’s side through the fabric of the shirt, and his fingers curl in slightly and— (oh gOD, it **HURTS** )

“ _Aah—_! Jes— Jonah, STOP! Stop,” Brian cries, curling in and shoving weakly at Jonah with one hand.

Jonah’s hand lifts. (It must have been so gentle, in reality. Jonah would never actually hurt him, but he must not realize it hurts like hell.)

Brian looks up with full eyes and a grimace on his face. “Why— _why_ would you—?”

“It’s flaring up,” Jonah says quietly. “Just how stressed _are_ you, Brian?”

Brian looks away. His hair flops over his face, hiding his eyes. He’s panting, trying to breathe so he can ignore the pain. It still hurts so bad. “… it’s not… flaring up. That’s not how shingles work.”

“Then what the hell is this?”

“Postherpetic neuralgia,” Brian says with a weak voice. “It’s… it’s a side effect of bad shingles. Basically, my nerves there are shot. They act up every once in a while for me. When I get stressed. Unfortunately, that’s an indication that it’s never going away. Ever. The only thing that helps it get better is constant anti-seizure meds, which I absolutely can’t afford. You've seen how much prescription meds cost these days? I’m just grateful for the fact I don’t need medication to stay alive, Jonah. I couldn’t afford to live if I needed it. As is, the best I can do is ibuprofen when it gets awful.”

Jonah looks torn between being sad and furious. “So… how do we treat it?”

Brian glances back at him. “We don’t.”

* * *

 

Wednesday morning, he walks into work with a finished script and a time-slot in the studio for filming the episode.

For about his first hours of reading through new Unraveled request comments, compiling a list of feasible proposals, he’s working diligently. But, as the time ticks by and he has a number of viable proposals to offer up, he finds that he’s running out of time to prepare the material for the current Unraveled.

It’s been on his mind for some time, but he feels like he has to get this one right. He’s not one of the biggest Kingdom Hearts fans out there, but the real fans will absolutely disown Polygon if he gets this wrong. Plotting out the storyline of every Kingdom Hearts game in order to predict Kingdom Hearts 3 is… going to be a risky gambit, even if it’s mostly a joke prediction. To diehard fans, the video he produces will be either dearly beloved (hehehe) or declared a sin against the series. He hopes to strike at least a middle ground for the general audience, many of whom may have not had the time or energy to get into Kingdom Hearts. Unfortunately, even if he satisfies the majority of casual players, the hardcore fans will undoubtedly be the most vocal about it. The 80-20 Rule states that eighty percent of your complaints will come from twenty percent of your customers. Or, in this case, viewers. It’s basic marketing.

Nonetheless, the script has been confirmed and they’re approved for shooting last in the studio with a short read after lunch. For that, though, he has to have the papers printed out to demonstrate how he’ll organize ‘em. So, he readies the PDF files he’s typed up with huge fonts and sends them to the fancier printer in the break room, and goes for a coffee break when he’s sent the command to the printer.

Except, when he gets there, he nearly runs into Pat.

“Oh! Hey, Pat Gill,” Brian says awkwardly.

“Hi,” Pat says, much more calmly.

“What’s up?” Brian asks. He leans against the counter in an attempt to look natural. He doesn’t know why he’s so off-kilter. (He knows why. It’s Pat.) Then, realizing how odd his pose is, he begins the routine of readying the coffee machine to make coffee.

Pat sighs. “I’ve been getting blown up with messages for a couple of days. I might have to talk to Vox’s HR about it.”

In an instant, Brian’s focus shifts away from his own nerves and towards his concern for Pat. “Messages about what? Hate mail or something?”

“No, uh. Someone took a clip from one of our Gill & Gilbert streams and cut out the context and it sounds like I’m cussing out Nick Robinson.”

“Oh,” Brian mutters. He’s still confused, but surely it’s just a case of lack of context. Pat wouldn’t say something like that… but just to be sure, he looks up and starts, “You wouldn’t—“

“No, and I didn’t. It was a guy from my middle school in Texas. A different kid named Nick. The one who supported Nazis and threw rocks at me and my sister. Not… I mean, everyone knows we can’t talk about our Nick.”

“Yeah, that sucks. Why’s it blowing up now?” Brian asks.

“Someone made a clip of it on Tumblr. Stirred some flames. It’s kinda my fault, I said something like ‘Nick, I told everyone you’re a piece of shit and I stand by that’, and then didn’t tell the whole story for another few minutes. The context wasn’t obvious, and I should’ve cleared that up in the video.”

“That’s not your fault. People are just twisting your words around.”

“Doesn’t matter. It’s like the Coolsville Sucks thing, right? Doesn’t matter how it got out there, only that it did. I’d rather report it myself than be ‘exposed’ or whatever. You know how fast Vox is to act on that kind of stuff. So I’ll have to talk to HR, probably. Deny any ill intent against Robinson, all that jazz.”

“That’s such a big fuss over nothing,” Brian pouts, staring at Pat, who looks like his normal aloof self even as he admits to a huge, potentially-career-ruining issue. He can't even imagine being that calm. “If that were me, I’d be losing my shit freaking out.”

Pat chuckles and nods. “Well, try not to freak out during the workday. We’ve got filming later. And aren’t those the papers for the Hero's Circle on the printer?”

“Oh, right,” Brian nods back, scrambling towards the printer to pick up the stack of paper only to hear the coffee machine beep as it becomes ready behind him. “Shit— you want some, Pat? You’re welcome to it.”

“Sure,” Pat agrees. By the time Brian has all of the papers ordered the way he wants them, he turns around and finds Pat waiting with two cups of coffee and a half-empty pot.

Brian takes the mug Pat isn’t holding and reaches for the cream only to find some already inside. It’s just he perfect shade of dark brown that he likes his coffee. Which implies that the right amount of sugar is there too; invisible surely, but present.“You remembered how I take my coffee?”

“Yeah. See you later, Bri.”

Brian nods awkwardly and sips his coffee. He just has to focus on keeping it cool. He's made it through every Unraveled that came before this, so he can make it through this one too. (Never mind that he's had panic attacks and bouts of insomnia for literally every episode of Unraveled to date. That's what the series is about, so it doesn't matter.)

Anyway, Brian refuses to break down in the break room.

* * *

 

No, he breaks down later. When they’re recording.

So much better.

“Shot forty-six, take thirteen. Come on, Brian,” Clayton slates.

Brian shakes himself off and stills, looking at the camera before his showmanship returns. He holds the string and glances back at the hero’s journey circle to make sure he’s wrapping it in the right place.

“Action,” Pat calls.

“Since this oblong shape actually cuts _through_ the hero’s journey— hero’s circle— fuck,” Brian fumbles. He pressed his eyes closed tight and sighs through his nose, cursing his past self for thinking comically long names and words were so important in script writing. His mind is somewhere else today, and his mental state’s been deteriorating ever since he suffered through the cold open of the recording (the part that requires long takes with few cuts and interesting inflection because nobody’s gonna watch a video that doesn’t hook them in, _come on_ , that’s basic film theory—)

“Keep rolling,” Pat declares. “Brian, one more time.”

“So since this oblong crosses through our hero’s journey twice, we’re gonna go ahead and call it something simple: The Hero’s Memories of Heroes Journey Oblong Twic— _fuck,_ that’s wrong, what’s the line?”

“Cut,” Pat calls out before shuffling the script. “‘Since this oblong crosses through the hero’s journey twice, we’re gonna make this easy to remember and call it the Hero’s Memories of the Hero’s Journey Double-Cross Oblong, AKA the H-M-H-J-X-X-O.’ Reset, please.”

Brian’s already been unwrapping the yarn from the push pins he’s placed into the wall. Across the room, Clayton checks on the cameras and resets them. “Shot forty-six, take fourteen.”

“Action.”

“Since this oblong crosses through the hero’s journey twice, we’re gonna make this simple and easy to remember and call it the Hero’s Memories of Hero’s Journey Circle’s Double— fuck!”

“Cut,” Pat sighs. “Brian, we need—“

“I _know_! I fucking know, I know; I’ll get it. I’ll get it next time, I— I promise, I—“ Brian’s chest tightens and suddenly he’s not in control of what he’s doing. His mouth spews a stream of a tantrum without his permission until the words catch because he finds it hard to breathe. His lungs won’t expand like he wants them to, as if his diaphragm is stuck. He clutches a hand at his chest, but it grabs his tie instead, which constricts his throat and now he’s sort of choking and _what the FUCK is happening_ —?

Distantly, he can kind of hear Pat mumble “shut the cameras down, take five. Now.”

Brian chokes in a breath and shakily raises his hands to cover his mouth. “Woah, I— I think I’m— I’m just—“

“Brian, why don’t you sit down,” Pat’s voice booms, even though he tried to say it gently. It’s close— _too_ close. It almost sweeps Brian off his feet with how he jerks back away from it. Funnily enough, it takes Pat almost scaring him into falling over to realize he’s shaking and swaying on his feet. (It _scares_ him. He didn’t realize his own anxiety could strike so fast. He’s usually so much better. Usually, he can manage attacks before they strike, but this came out of nowhere. To everyone else, he went from tired and frustrated to— oh holy shit, he’s already _crying_.)

“I’m ‘av— it’s— Pat— it’s’a pan’c—“

“I know.”

“This is— I’ve nev’r had— I’ve never… it’s never happ’ned this- this suddenl-ly. This— this—“

“Brian, sit down.”

Brian looks down. In his current state, getting from his standing height to ground level is dangerous, because he’s shaking so much he knows his legs could buckle and he could hit his head— but to touch Pat for help… first off, Pat doesn’t like being touched, and Brian needs to stop being so clingy anyway. Pat wouldn’t want Brian clinging to him and dragging him to the floor because he’s too incapacitated to sit down like a fucking adult. And anyway, secondly, Brian’s skin is already crawling (not from sweat -he hasn’t been freaking out long enough to work up a sweat. Not _yet_ at least-, but from some weird uncomfortable feeling that he can't place) so he doesn’t want to approach. Instead, he bends and holds a hand out, downward and splayed to brace his fall. Lifting one foot so it can twist and let that leg hit the ground, he then bends his other knee so he lands his weight on the hand and the folded leg. He stays hunched there, realizing that his lungs still isn’t working _holy shit—_

“Breathe, man.”

Brian agrees, so he reaches up to his neck to get his tie off— only his fingers bump against the fabric uselessly. They can’t remember how to actually undo it, so they hook under it and pull. It loosens a little, but only minutely. He tugs on it again, trying to get it off of him like a dog who hates its collar.

Out of the corner of his vision, he sees Pat reaching forward slowly.

“Nono— _no_ don’t— don’t touch— _please_ ,” Brian whimpers with a shaking voice, squeezing his eyes shut. He loves Pat (more than he should, honestly), but the thought of someone’s hands moving his clothes, shifting things out of control… that’s simply not something Brian could handle. He doesn’t know how much worse this can get right now. He only knows that physical contact - _especially_ around his neck- would absolutely break him.

“Yeah— Sure, yeah,” Pat says, retracting his hands quickly. “I won’t come closer. You still need to breathe though, buddy.

“I can’t— I can’t, I _can’t._ They won’t— I’m sorry, but I can’t—“ Brian huffs, shaking his head. Tears prick at his eyes as his lungs start burning. In retaliation, his survival instinct kicks in and forces him to take in oxygen somehow. Unfortunately, his body deems that the solution of hyperventilation will work for now. He’s upgraded from stuttering, halting gasps to hyperventilation. And now he can’t talk. Useless. Oh _god_ , if he passes out— they’ll have to call medical people (paramedics, dumbass. They’re called paramedics and they cost a crazy amount of money). Such a burden, they should just leave him until he comes too but they _won’t_ and now he’s causing everyone trouble—

“Hey, think about Celeste. Brian? Close your eyes. The feather, Brian.”

Brian shakes his head violently. Tears stream down his cheeks as he stares at the vibrating floor. He can’t just tune everything out and think about feathers and video games. Not when his breathing’s taking short puffs in survival mode and his entire body’s shaking and he can’t stop thinking about how worthless he is. Brian remembers that about a year ago when they started being more friends than coworkers, he told Pat that when he got attacks, he shouldn’t be left alone. At the time, it made _complete_ sense, as Brian knows that without other people there to ground his sense of time, he’s prone to sit there panicking for ages (once, an attack lasted _two straight hours_ before his sister found him sitting there curled up in the corner). Yes, at the time Brian had been so happy when Pat offered him a warm, lovely (painfully) platonic hug and promised he’d be there for him every time. But now, the shame of being witnessed breaking down like a frightened child—

Brian can’t stomach it. He can’t stand to let it happen, but what’s he to do? He can’t stop crying and hyperventilating, _much less_ excuse himself and calm down alone. All he can do is— (not a bad idea. Do it. You've already dug yourself a hole, time to lay in it, Brian.)

At this rate, yeah. Passing out may be preferable.

“Brian, I’m right here. Look at me.”

Something about the tone in his voice… quiet and considerate but sharp. Demanding— no, not demanding. _Guiding_. Brian pulls his gaze up. Through his disheveled hair, he can see Pat on his knees across from him.

The man flips one hand upside down and uses his pointer fingers and thumbs to make a rectangle with the other hand. “You’re just like Madeline. Imagine the feather, Brian. It’s not stupid. Just try it for me. _Breathe_.”

Pat’s hands slide up as he breathes in and down as he breathes out. Without even intending to, Brian compares it to his own, and suddenly he’s imagining a feather matching his own breathing. The feather flutters up and down so fast it’s nearly vibrating in place. Pat’s box is sliding much further up and down.

Brian opens his mouth and gasps in a breath, imagining the feather getting pushed up to fit and match the peak height of Pat’s box. But on the exhale, it stutters and makes it less than halfway down before he gasps in his next breath desperately. Brian sobs, frustrated.

“It’s okay,” Pat says as his box goes down. “Keep trying.”

Brian couldn’t tell you how long he spends hunched on the floor, trying to get his breathing to lengthen out to Pat’s timing. It hitches every few times, sometimes making him heave for enough air to keep going, but Pat murmurs something assuring and they get back to it. As it calms down, he feels the pain in his right side for the first time. It must have been around for a while if his clenched abs are any indication, but with the _suffocation_ and all he hadn’t really noticed.

In and out. He focuses on the sensation of air being sucked down his throat because latching on to those physical inputs is the start of the road to calming down.

His thoughts were growing quick and loud and sharp before, but now the thoughts are short, but comparatively, they take an eternity to complete.

After the first few dozen times where he’s getting close to matching Pat’s box, he’s finally calm enough to breathe through his nose.

He’s also certain that by the time he’s steadily synced up, Pat’s arms must be burning like hell.

“I’m— I’m _so_ sorry,” Brian rasps. He’s sure his reason for saying so is clear: their time booked in the studio is very limited, and he just burned who-knows-how-much of that precious time crying on the floor. Still, he can’t bring himself to be that upset about it yet. He feels exhausted, kind of like he needs to fall asleep ASAP.

“It’s alright. There’s no need to beat yourself up for it any more than you just did,” Pat says gently.

There’s a pause. He finally reaches up and pulls the knot in his tie apart. His hands are shaky, but they do as he commands instead of fumbling about. It’s a lot easier to breathe now, though he can’t tell if that’s a product of the tie’s removal or the adrenaline seeping out. Brian glances around the silent studio. “Is Clayton…?”

“He popped in the door a few times, so he seems to be hovering around. He's worried about you. But I'm sure he doesn't want to intrude 'cause he keeps leaving the second he comes in. Don't worry, though. It’s only been about ten minutes.”

“Fuck, we only have two hours to film this—“

“Do you need to go home?”

“ _What?_ ” Brian asks. His brain starts turning again like normal. No longer sleepy, he gets to his knees. “I need to- to calm down before— I have roommates, Pat, and I don’t think I want _either_ of them to see this.”

“We’ll head to my place then.”

“No— our coworkers: they need the studio to record— what’s next to record here?”

“Nothing for the rest of today, I think,” Pat says. “We could book it early tomorrow, leave all the papers up and pick up first thing in the morning.”

“There’s an Overboard recording scheduled for tomorrow morning,” Brian remembers suddenly.

“So we tell Tara what happened and make her push it back,” Pat says. But before Brian can get a word in edgewise, he raises a hand. “It’s your call of course. But I know her. She’ll understand. Hell, she’d give you a couple of days off if you asked. Push back the Unraveled deadline for you. And even if you don’t want her to know what happened, I can talk to her and she’ll push back Overboard’s time slot.”

“I don’t know what to do,” Brian whispers. He raises a palm to his face, wiping at his sticky face. “I don’t think I could look her in the eye and ask that of her.”

“Do you want me to?”

Brian sighs. “I can’t take days off. We need to finish the video without continuity errors on the walls… could you…?”

“I’ll ask her to push the schedule back. We’ll wrap the shoot in the morning. Do you want me to tell her that you had an attack, or shall I demand no questions asked?”

“You can tell her. I just don’t think I could tell her to her face.”

“It’s okay. I’ll tell Clayton we’re delaying the shoot. We’ll head back to my place as soon as I tell Tara and get all our stuff from our desks. Next Unraveled, we have to pick some game that's less complicated than games we don't even like, okay?”

“Oh, my desk. I just left my—“

“Thumb-drive. I bet you did. Still in your PC at our desk, right? Chill here, Bri. I’ll be back in a few.” And Pat is out the door.

 _‘Bri’._ How cute.

He sits against the wall, head between his knees, and breathes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't have that much experience with sudden and massive panic attacks, but I do have experience with smaller ones, so this writing was modeled on my own experience. Y'know, the kind where your thoughts only get interrupted when someone else says something? It's gross. ALSO idk if BDG has postherpetic neuralgia but i'd bet he does b/c his shingles seemed to suck like mine and those nerves NEVER fuckin heal and i cant afford meds either-- tldr; basically I'm just hella projecting in this fic
> 
> thanks for the comments, everyone. You're making my week infinitely better with your kind words! <3


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgive me for projecting this whole fic onto BDG. I'm sure in person, he's a lovely dude who probably won't ever date Pat Gill, but I'm gay and poor and vent fics are a lot more affordable than therapy whoops. So. Ready for gay, folks?

 It’s not long before they’re on the train back to Pat’s place.

“Whatcha up to?” Pat asks in a gentle mumble.

Brian glances up from his phone at Pat. It’s not far, considering he’s half leaning on Pat as they stand side-by-side with his head resting on Pat’s shoulder. He’s used to burying his nose in his phone or his Nintendo Switch on train rides, but now he has someone to keep company, so he attempts a smile. And tightens his hold on the bar that keeps him upright. “Shooting a text to Jonah and Laura. Just so they know I didn’t get kidnapped or something.”

“Nice of you,” Pat nods. “You can stay the night if you want.”

“Oh. Not that I don’t _want_ to, but… Like, we’d have to swing back by my place in the morning for clothes, though, right? You sure you wanna do that? Or maybe I would just go do that, you obviously wouldn’t _have_ to come…”

“You have you wash your suit for continuity anyway. Do it at mine. You can borrow a t-shirt and sweats while it washes.”

Brian could start crying again. It’s so nice to not have to decide what to do. Pat’s leading him for the moment. And Brian won’t need that forever, but at the moment he’s grateful for the leadership because if it _weren’t_ provided, Brian would be agonizing over each option until they missed their stop. “Thank you,” he whispers, hoping that Pat understands.

Pat just nods. “Don’t forget to finish texting your roommates.”

Brian goes back to his text.

* * *

 

They lie in Pat’s bed quietly. The sound of the upstairs neighbors' TV echoes through the walls, murmuring along with the white noise. Down the hall, Charlie chases a bell he bats around the living room. Across the apartment, a washing machine runs, cleaning a gray suit. None of that is audible over Pat’s breathing. His heartbeat fills Brian’s ears as he lays his head upon the older man’s chest.

“It usually doesn’t happen that fast without a good reason,” Brian says as he shuts his eyes tight. “Like, for such a quick onset, it’s usually something like someone yelling at me, or getting really bad news, or walking into a convention hall. We were just working. I don’t know why it happened.”

“Are you sure?” Pat asks gently. “We were pressuring you. Unraveled shoots are pretty taxing on your mental state anyway. Going wild like that every time… I mean, you can’t even afford anxiety meds, can you? I know money’s tight in our line of work, but we could work something out.”

“No, it’s fine. It’s usually fine. It should be just acting. It’s never a problem to act, Pat. I was just trying to say the line— it’s such a fucking _dumb_ line. Why did I write such a hard thing to say? I was just so frustrated and angry…”

“At the line?”

“At _myself,”_ Brian spits out. “This is the one fucking thing I do with my time here, and I’m screwing it all up, Pat. It took me months to pitch Unraveled only for almost all my ideas to be cut because they were too long. I’m wasting Polygon resources while the gaming industry’s cracking around us. I only have a job because Vox is unionized— if we weren’t, they’d fire me in a _second_ for the shit I pulled today. I faked my way into this company and now I’m getting paid to do video essays on game lore and now I can’t even do _that—_ Fuck, Pat, I’m _such_ a screwup—“

“Jesus— Brian…” Pat shifts under him, sitting up. Brian pushes himself away and props himself up on his arms to nervously meet Pat’s eye. He’s outraged, brows drawn together and his head shaking a little. “That’s so wrong. Nobody thinks you’re a screwup. Why would you think that?”

“It’s…” words die on Brian’s lips as he searches for an answer that doesn’t sound like a pity party. “… I’m failing everyone.”

Pat’s face shifts subtly away from the anger and lands on something Brian can’t name. Something related to shock and understanding, but thankfully closer to realization than pity.

“I’m… spiraling down this hole I’ve dug myself. I promised myself I wouldn’t get like this again but it started and I had no idea how to pull out of it. All I do is work to make these videos people love and hate at the same time. Every time, there’s something wrong with it, or I made a mistake, or I’m using too much paper. Or before editing’s done, half of it’s gone because it took too long. Or, we have to redo it because it’s not good enough. What I’m doing here— it’s everything that I can give and— and… it’s _not good enough_ , Pat.”

After a second, Pat reaches out his hand and tugs lightly at Brian’s shoulder, beaconing him in.

Brian closes his eyes gratefully and shifts closer before he falls into Pat. His head finds a cradle against Pat’s neck and his arms wrap snug around Pat’s chest. It surprises him how hard and fast Pat’s heart is beating, but he can feel it under his fingertips. Maybe it’s the neck touch. (Neither of them like people touching their necks, and Brian’s _about_ to shift his head down to land on Pat’s shoulder but—) Pat’s arms land warm and soft across his back, holding him securely in place.

“You’re wrong. Everyone’s glad you’re a part of our family at Polygon.”

“But economically, for the company—“

“ _Economically,_ you’re our cash cow. Ever since the McElroys left…” he can feel Pat swallow, “well, now that they’re gone, there’s not many of us that the general public is super fond of. Nothing can hold a candle to them, right? We were all concerned that a big chunk of the audience would leave with them. Brian, _you_ made them stay.”

Brian’s eyes widen.

“They love Unraveled. They watched you going crazy over games they already loved and somehow fell deeper in love with it. You found a way to make people laugh. It’s amazing. You must know you are so _loved._ I’m sure they took one look at you and your charismatic, goofy, creative, anxiety-riddled face and they just fell right in… Brian?”

It takes him another second to realize he hadn’t been breathing. He heaves in a mouthful of air and turns his head away from Pat. With his nose pressed against Pat’s shoulder, he asks, “Yeah?”

“Are you… I mean, was I being— Did I say something that…“

“Nono, it’s not anything you said. I’m good.”

“It’s okay if you’re not,” Pat says slowly. “If there’s anything I can do…”

What’s he supposed to say? ‘Yeah, please stop talking about people falling in love with me when I’m kind of obsessed with you’? He could never start that conversation like that. He would never want to put that position on Pat. Not when Pat still feels obligated to make Brian feel better.

“Brian, please. You gotta talk to me.”

He does have to say something. “Things have been bad lately,” Brian admits in a mumble. “Haven’t been sleeping. Lots of work into projects that people barely see the finished product of. It’s chipping away. I know everyone noticed. But it’s hard to hide when I don’t have the tools to… when I don’t have…”

“What do you need?” Pat asks, confused.

“I don’t know. Pain meds? Emotional support? This?”

“This?”

“You,” Brian says gently. (Shut up. He knows he literally just said he wouldn’t do this. He knows he’s treading a fine line of their friendship, and he knows that crossing that line could shatter it all. But he’s not lying in saying that Pat’s what he needs right now. He’s changing his mind because he can’t stop himself; his guard was always shitty at best and now those walls are broken down to smithereens, so what’s stopping him?) “You’re great at calming me down. I need that.”

Pat laughs gently. “Doesn’t feel like it, sometimes.”

“What?” Brian croaks, confused and quiet.

“Don’t get me wrong, most of the time we get along great. We click. But when we’re alone… I don’t know. Sometimes it feels like I’m setting you off. You’ll get angry or distant in the middle of conversations. I don’t know if it’s me causing it, or if you feel more comfortable letting your guard down around me, but I see you struggling and it feels like I’m not doing anything to help.”

Brian feels his face falling. “That’s not— I— I don’t know how to… make you know that there’s nobody I’d rather be around. You’re right— I’ve been… doing pretty bad recently.”

They make brief eye contact. Brian swallows his nerves and presses on.

“You make it…so, so much better. I’m looking back at the last week and I get what you’re saying but you’re wrong, Pat. It’s my fault, for never being able to just say what I mean. I promise you that I couldn’t do this without you. Your patience. Your forgiveness. I— I need that, and I need you to know this, but I don’t know how to make you believe—“

“Brian,” Pat interrupts. “I trust you. You don’t have to justify it. Not with me, because I believe you.”

Brian feels like his heart just melted into pure, liquid joy, which drips over his ribs down to his stomach where the butterflies held within are released so that they may become blush dashing across his face. His eyes connect with Pats and suddenly he’s locked there, unable to avert his gaze as he does so often around Pat. It’s all different now because at this moment, he sees Pat’s eyes staring right back at his with the exact same nervous, careful admiration (please be love please please please—) “Do you mean that? You don’t have to— you’re not,” Brian breaks off for a millisecond because Pat’s hand lands on his hip and rubs it absently, “obligated to say something like that.”

“It’s not an obligation. It’s a choice,” Pat says easily.

Were Brian a more confident man, his mouth would be sucking Pat’s face off by now, but his internal voice is warning him (don’t read this the wrong way, _don’t_ mess it up, but don’t do _nothing,_ say something do something ask him _ask him—_ ) so he blinks hard. “Are you— do you feel… do you—“

He must be taking too long because Pat pushes himself up and plants his lips directly on Brian’s.

And Brian is starstruck. His body reacts instantly, of course. His inner voice is over the moon, taking over and kissing back enthusiastically (maybe too much so, but he’s too happy to care) while he takes a mental break to thank every star in the sky that his life was lucky enough to cross with Pat Gil’s. Meanwhile, he pulls Pat closer by pulling the man by his shirt, kissing him like he’s never going to get another chance. It’s heaven in an electric touch of skin contact. Brian forgets too often when he’s alone why people always call kisses electric, but in this moment he’s branding it into his memory because he’s not sure if it’ll ever happen again, but he never wants to forget it. It's not that the physicality of it is spectacular, though it is very nice when he considers it. It's more that it feels right in a way Brian didn't remember kissing could. There's this warmth in his chest that spreads out, all-encompassing. (It's his heart, ecstatic

When they finally do separate, Pat pulls Brian back down so they can lay back. “Don’t misunderstand me, Brian. I don’t expect anything at all. If what you want is to go home right now and act like today never happened at all, I’ll forget it in a heartbeat. If you need… time, I suppose, then we can put everything on pause and you can make a decision tomorrow, next week, five years from now. I know I shouldn’t have let myself do something so impulsive when you’ve just had such a raw day… but fuck, Bri, I can’t bring myself to regret it.”

“Oh, Pat Gill,” Brian whispers. There are already tears in his eyes. He blinks them away and smiles. A minute ago, he was stuttering and nervous because he had no idea how Pat would react. But now he knows. His waxing poetic nature takes the reigns now that he’s certain he won’t be shot down. “If you think I’m on the fence about you, you’re sorely mistaken.”

“I’m just—“

“Being kind. Giving me an out if I so happened to want to run away. And for that opportunity, I’m grateful. But _read the room_ , Pat. If I wanted nothing to do with you like that, I wouldn’t still be pressed up against you on your bed.“

There’s some kind of giddy joy that burst in Brian’s chest when Pat turns a pretty shade of pink. Pat’s never been one to blush, but the fact that Brian can do that…

“I just hadn’t expected you to be into this too. Into me, I mean. You’re so hard to read,” Brian pouts a tiny bit down at Pat.

“ _I’m_ hard to read? You’re the touchiest person alive. How was I supposed to know it was different when you touch me than our coworkers?”

“A good hint would be that I don’t agree to give Jeff or Simone or Clayton a _piggyback ride_ all the way to Time Square.”

Pat swallows. “That long?”

“You’ve been hot _long_ before I met you in person,” Brian mutters. He’s speaking so much more confidently than he normally would, but Pat looks so flustered, so genuine, so receptive that he can’t help but keep going. It feels good to come clean after months and months of meticulously wrapping his truth in layers of words that muddle his intentions. He’d been so painstakingly careful to never let anything inappropriate slip out (all out of fear of being inappropriate, crossing a line, ruining a good friendship). He has no qualms unloading it all now. “But yeah. Not too long after Gill and Gilbert started, it got annoyingly more emotional than surface-level crushing.”

“So much lost time.”

“I don’t believe in lost time. I didn’t lose time by being _friends_ with you, and I’m not really gaining any time by—“ he swallows, looking down Pat laid out under his body weight. They’re so close. They don’t know what they’re doing. His confidence seeps slowly from him. “By doing this. Time spent with you’s worth it in any form it comes.”

“I’m not sure what I can offer to you,” Pat responds.

After a second, Brian scoffs out a shocked laugh, and then laughs louder, leaning back just to brush the hair out of his face. “Pat… oh god. Pat, you _literally_ Celeste-ed me out of a panic attack today. You know it didn’t just work because I like that game, right? It was ‘cause of you. Talking to me the whole time, making sure I knew what to focus on… it’s always you.”

“Oh,” Pat mutters. “I’m not as good with words on the spot, you know.”

“Just say something hot, dude.”

“Is it selfish of me to want you all to myself every day of the fucking week? Because that’s what I want.”

Brian’s face flushes and he hears his own breath catch quietly. Well, he didn’t know what he was _expecting_ there, but he supposes it’s what he deserves for making Pat so flustered before. Suddenly he’s wondering if they’re dating or friends-with-benefits or… “Uh— are you asking- do you want—?”

“Labels are so weird. I know you hate them,” Pat assures quickly. “But I wouldn’t mind continuing this. Going out sometimes.”

“I’d like that,” Brian nods. “You’re sure? Not to be egotistical, but we do have… fans, you know? We’d have to try very hard if you want to keep this secret from the public.”

“Mm, true. I don’t much care what people think of me. People already guess you’re queer. Does it matter what conclusions they jump to? We’re video producers, not internet celebrities. Our videos are already pretty professional most of the time. They won’t know the difference.”

“Co-workers will,” Brian mutters. Because he knows for a fact that Jenna (bless her heart) sticks her nose in everyone’s personal lives when she’s curious. “If Tara isn’t cool with it, one of us might have to look for another job. Fuck, if one of us gets _promoted_ , then like _morally_ we’d have to stop, right? Are you cool with that?”

“I’m _not_ gonna be your boss. And we work for Polygon. Everyone already knows we have a dynamic.”

“Then… what about personally? You’d be okay with our workmates— our _friends_ knowing about this?”

“I don’t mind if they know you’re mine,” Pat says.

Brian feels the shiver run down his spine. “Fuck, Pat Gill. I guess we’re a thing then.”

Pat grins and tilts his head up just enough to press their lips together sweetly.

Suddenly, Brian’s not thinking about his insecurities, because his brain is too busy short-circuiting to meander on such trivial subjects as his self-image.

* * *

 

There’s no office party where they announce themselves. No dramatic discovery of them making out in a closet. Not even really any confrontation about it. It’s revealed one day and spread around the office throughout the next few days and then by the next week, it’s old news. It goes like this:

They’re out for pizzas when Brian forgets and Pat seems to too, because he doesn’t catch it either. The two of them finish their slices and Brian needs to get up and go piss, so Pat stands up so he can get out of their crowded booth, and as they rotate, Brian goes up on his heels to press a kiss to Pat’s lips. The kiss, though brief, is so unexpected and sweet that Brian’s lips curl into a smile as he tucks Pat’s hair behind his ear before pulling back. Pat’s arm rubs his back and then sends him off towards the back of the restaurant.

He’s three steps away when he realizes that he’s not alone on a date with Pat.

This was a _group_ lunch.

He freezes, chest seizing suddenly. Brian looks over his shoulder and sees Pat still standing, rigid and wide eyed. Simone’s jaw is on the floor. Allegra is holding a napkin to her face, where it seems she spat out some of her soda. Jeff is looking back and forth between Pat and Brian. They’re fucked.

“Uh…” Brian stalls. He takes some unsure steps back to the table to get out of the way of other patrons of the pizzeria so he can face his fate. “Surprise.”

“I told you we should’a set up a betting pool,” Simone mumbles.

“I thought it was _bullshit._ Pat, you’re gay?” Allegra asks. There’s not any hint of anger or bigotry in her voice, only pure shock and disbelief and a little bit of incredulousity.

“You’re together?” Jeff asks incredulously.

Brian’s trying to summon words to his tongue, but Pat’s hand finds his, tangling their fingers together and giving an assuring squeeze. He looks up at Pat, surprised and eager to hear what kind of response his (are they boyfriends? Friends-with-bennies? What kind of a _label_ will Pat put on it now that he has to call Brian his—) partner would provide.

“Yeah, sorry we didn’t tell you. Your awareness of our relationship level wasn’t that important at the time it underwent some changes,” Pat shrugs, unaffected, unapologetic, and a little playful. “Also it _wasn’t_ really your business. Sorry.”

A beat of silence.

Brian knows he never would’ve said that, but frankly it’s the friendliest, kindest ‘fuck off’ that Brian has ever heard in his life. Now the only question is how they’ll respond. He looks nervously over at them, waiting for what they have to say when—

“Who tops?” Simone asks point blank.

“Take a _wild_ fucking guess,” Pat retorts. “Grizzly man or the ukulele-playing twink?”

Brian feels like he has whiplash from that exchange, but luckily Jeff looks the same.

“Oh my god,” Allegra mumbles, then promptly buries her face in her hands to hide a huge shit-eating grin.

An awkward silence falls over them as they stare at each other, blushing and smirking. Jeff clears his throat, staring down at the table awkwardly. “Well, congratulations, you two. You. Uh. You _compliment_ each other.”

“Sure. Yeah, Jeff, you’re right. Opposites attract, I guess,” Simone smirks.

“Is it really such a big deal? Are we gonna keep talking about this or can I go to the bathroom now?” Brian asks quietly.

“You’re excused. But Pat, I _do_ want to know how long you kept this secret from me,” Simone says pointedly. She’s staring at Pat in that telepathic resonance way that Brian can tell means they’re having a full conversation with just their eyes. From what he knows from being their friend, though, it's not an argument.

He clears his throat, feeling as awkward as Jeff. “So we’re good?”

Jeff nods vehemently. Allegra nods much more leisurely. Simone winks at him in a sultry way. “Pat should join you in there,” Simone grins.

“Ignore her,” Pat whispers, turning in close so nobody else can hear or see his words. (It stuns Brian that he’s allowed to do this now. Now that their coworkers know, they can have little moments and be excused. No dancing around it or making up explanations. It’s fucking _freeing,_ honestly.) “I’ll wait for you here. She’s just gonna grill me over how I got such a catch.”

“I’m a catch?” Brian questions, a small delighted smile growing in the corner of his mouth.

“Never had a bigger one in my life. Cross my heart,” Pat promises. He presses a kiss to Brian’s forehead. “Go ahead. We’ll wait for you to get back.”

Brian turns slowly and heads off, listening to his friends behind him.

“Dumbasses in love. I can’t _believe_ you two didn’t see that coming.”

“Some of us don’t ship our coworkers for fun, Simone!”

“Oh _fuck off!_ You think they’re cute too.”

Oddly enough, he’s not really self-conscious about being found out or addressing the matter at all. Worried and nervous and a little scared about the future, sure. But not self-conscious. They’re his friends. Even when he doesn’t trust himself, he trusts them.

He trusts them to love him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So glad you stuck around 'til the end! It's been lovely reading all the comments and feedback. A thousand thanks, dears!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Love you all for your continued support and kindness <3


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